


Marinette's First (and Worst) V-Day, Ever

by Mommy



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: F/M, and therefore adrien is the son of tom dupain, in which marinette is still the daughter of gabriel agreste and sabine cheng
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-07 19:16:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14087826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mommy/pseuds/Mommy
Summary: Marinette had prepared herself for any form of rejection - any form but this one.





	Marinette's First (and Worst) V-Day, Ever

**Author's Note:**

> Another installment for the AU where Marinette is Gabriel and Sabine's daughter and Adrien is Tom and Emilie's son.  
> This one was initially supposed to be right after the events of le Dislocoeur, but I decided I wanted to go into better detail of the akuma events than Marinette's retrospect could be.  
> This is also not necessarily confirmed as canon to that story, as I'm still trying to figure out the main story's plot.  
> Maybe it will be, though.

"Marinette?"  
What.  
"Marinette!"  
Whaaat?  
"Marinette, are you ignoring me?"  
Maybe.

Marinette was pulled from her search by a hand on her chin, redirecting her gaze into eyes that were such a sharp, icy light blue, they almost gave her chills just looking at them.  
"I'm listening, Chloé. It's called multi-tasking." Her words may have been a little hard, but her voice took on the usual joking tone they had when it was just the two of them.  
"Hmmm," Chloé answered, her own voice thick with skepticism. "So, are you coming over for lunch or not?"  
"Not today, Chloé."  
"Why not?" The blonde wasn't taking no for an answer, but Marinette had no other answer to give. One of them would eventually prove more stubborn than the other.  
"I'm waiting for someone. If they don't show up, I'll visit later."  
Chloé broke unexpectedly early, and her voice instead took a tone almost like pleading. "No photoshoots today?"  
Marinette rolled her eyes, smiled, and answered, "No photoshoots today." She turned her eyes back for the sky, tracing the buildings for any indication of black leather, blonde hair, or a golden bell.  
"Alright, fine. But whoever you're waiting on better make it snappy. I told Daddy I wanted a table for two reserved in that really romantic corner of the restaraunt in case anyone in our class wasn't _totally pathetic_ this year... Which means _you're_ my date tonight."  
"Try not to snack too much before dinner, then. I'm not sure when I'll be free."  
Chloé was quiet for a few moments before she moved in front of Marinette. "I can't believe I'm not your number one priority, Marikins, aren't we best friends?"  
"If somebody you deemed worthy had asked you out this year, would you pay me any mind today?"

The thought processed in Chloé's eyes before she groaned exasperatedly at Marinette. "Alright! Fine! But I kind of hope whoever you're waiting for is in a tragic accident and they're hospitalized at least for the rest of the day."  
"That's cruel and unusual."  
"Don't care! Text me when they don't show up."

And with that, Marinette was left once more to her search. She could still hear Chloé talk as she walked away, summoning Sabrina from the woodwork to come walk with her until they reached their parting point.  
Other students were still pouring from the school; Marinette had only been outside so quickly because she was out the door by the time the dismissal bell stopped ringing to assume the same post she'd taken throughout the school day.

She had every doubt that this day would go according to how she wanted, but she was also full of hope for the first Valentine's Day that had ever mattered to her.  
This year, unlike every year before, she had someone she loved and wanted to spend the day with. Someone she wouldn't presume would immediately accept, even while she was baring her heart in her civilian form, but someone she might just get to agree to see her on another day, if he didn't instantly agree.  
This year, she had Chat Noir.

She had the plan all worked out, if she could only be so lucky as to cross his path. Tikki had gone through it with her, however hesitant over the risks - even as Marinette pressed that there was no way she would expose her identity.  
She knew he travelled the city much more than she did: he had a much more free schedule and clearly relished in the time he spent transformed enough to spend hours that way when there _wasn't_ an akuma. So there was a chance. A slim one. But a chance.

She would call him down from the rooftops of Paris.  
Express her appreciation of him, her immense respect, and finally, her love. She'd ask for an opportunity to spend a little time with him, even if it were only a single hour. If he wouldn't agree on the terms of it being a date, it would simply be to express her appreciation of him and all he did for Paris, all he did for her when she was Ladybug - not that she would even think about exposing herself as the other half of the superhero pair. If he agreed to spend the evening together, she'd still return home, however briefly, so she could get her gift for him, and they'd meet up somewhere. If he didn't, she'd try and get plans forged for another day - a day with definite plans to see him at a specific time so she wouldn't carry around a present in vain and run the risk of losing or ruining it.

She'd prepared herself mentally for any form of refusal - he could say no to the date, and she'd take simply giving him some reward as consolation. He could say no to the day, and she could find another one.

Now, she supposed she'd have to work in the small note of telling Chloé their romantic dinner at la Grand Paris might be cancelled if Chat Noir agreed to spend Valentine's Day with her.  
She went over the plan again in her mind a number of times while she looked, paced around the school, and finally, restlessly, regarded her phone.

For her to have time to enact this plan, she'd asked for Guillaume to pick her up thirty minutes later than usual. Slowly but surely, that time was passing. Soon, she wouldn't be looking expectantly for the cat in the sky, but staring with dread in either direction that the car could pull up to the front of the collége.  
She knew her chances were slim enough, but the fact she hadn't seen him was nothing short of discouraging.  
She couldn't exactly stray from the school much like she did when half of the class was sent to the library while the other half left for gym; someone would be arriving in eighteen minutes to collect her.  
Seventeen.  
Sixteen.  
She stifled a sigh in time to keep her disappointment from being picked up by Kim, who had come to interrupt her silence.

"Marinette," he started, anxiously, looking to Max and beckoning him over. The shorter of the two pushed his glasses up his dark nose and took a few paces forward, a box in-hand. She felt her tongue leaden and tried to quickly calculate a way to disrupt whatever this tag-team was, but the further into the explanation that Kim bumbled and Max clarified, it became clear she wasn't the intended recipient of the gem they presented.  
"So, you're a girl," Kim tacked on at the end, and once more, Max delivered the saving phrase, "A model, specifically, someone who is exponentially more fashionable and conscientious to ongoing trends."  
Model, daughter of Gabriel Agreste, but no one really recognized her own work, however derivative it sometimes felt to her father's designs. Instead of getting incredulous or laughing at them, Marinette managed to make a subdued smile. "I guess I am," she joked.  
"In spite of all my research, Kim feels it's necessary to cross-check extensive vetting with the whim of someone in your field, specifically, someone with taste as well as femininity." Max sounded a little scornful, but not so much so he was retracting his assistance from his clearly giddy and anxious friend.

"The brooch isn't quite to my taste, but-"  
"Ooh, pretty- is it for me?" A familiar alto's voice came in, encroaching on the space of the three before.  
Alya. The classmate that did little to conceal her disapproval of Marinette and her complete adoration of Ladybug.  
Marinette's eyes immediately moved to her, stepping back to give her a little space, and she noted Nino and Adrien's careful approach after.  
"No, actually, the recipient has already been decided, it's-"  
"Max," Kim urged, nodding his head in a way that indicated their current company wasn't the best for sharing.  
Max cleared his throat and shrugged.  
"So, Marinette?" Kim probed, and Marinette managed a slightly more hesitant but polite smile.  
"Whoever you put this much energy and thought into would have to consider you, at least."  
Enthusiasm washed over the athlete once again, and he moved his attention to Max once again, who gave him the box.  
"Alright, remember the plan? Your path is in red, and hers is in yellow -"

While Max lay out the framework and numbers behind the plot, Nino shifted in and nudged Marinette with his elbow before speaking in a hush.  
"What's that all about."  
"Kim is confessing to someone today and wanted to know someone's thoughts on the gift," Marinette answered. She was supposed to be confessing to someone today, and a quick glance at her phone indicated she only had another nine minutes.

Any dejection she'd intended to fall into was eradicated when Kim stood suddenly beaming right in front of her. "Thanks Marinette!" He had his gift in-hand and was pacing in place, warming up for the sprint to come. He saluted and ran down the street.  
Finally, she _had_ to laugh. Kim was far off enough not to hear, but the others looked at her questioningly - Max with a bit of concern.

"He's so eager," Marinette answered their looks, and smiled after the boy who was already almost out of sight. "I hope it turns out well."  
"Agreed." Max regarded his current company and shrugged as Alya gave him a raised brow and pointed at Marinette. "I'll see the rest of you in class."  
The group answered with a series of 'see you's and 'byes,' before Alya added additional commentary on the brooch, jabbing her companions and asking about whether or not either of them had brought gifts for the special lady in their life.

Marinette stayed focused mostly on where Kim's back had disappeared around a corner.  
Maybe she'd try and take on some of that energy. Chat Noir hadn't shown yet, so she was growing anxious, but it's not like she couldn't sneak out later or figure out another plan.  
It's not like, if she didn't manage to see him today, she wouldn't have something to fill up the time at the end of the day. It's not like she wouldn't live if she didn't tell him today, or if she didn't tell him this week.  
Stay positive.

... Staying that way was a little harder than it looked, but she'd try.  
She resumed looking towards the rooftops, deciding that very well concluded the conversation she was having with the others.  
It only occurred to her that didn't conclude it for them when Nino sidled up next to her again and glanced to her, speaking once again.

"Weather's nice."  
"Yeah," she supposed it was. Not that it was the weather she cared about.  
"Good day to hang out," he added, and while he seemed to be gauging her for a response, she didn't want to separate her eyes from the rooftops again.  
"It is."  
"Just warm enough to get ice cream."  
She hummed in doubt, considered, and took in the weather.  
The sun was nice, certainly, but it wasn't tank-top weather. "It might be a little cold for that." She wondered idly if Chat liked the weather today; warm and bright, but there was still the chill of a subsiding winter mid-February. If he, too, thought today was warm enough for ice cream, even if she wouldn't agree.  
Silence followed, and she tried to take comfort in it, think positive, supplement Tikki's dialogue inside while she couldn't actively speak to the kwami, to little avail.  
She could feel the time passing. She could count the seconds, if she wanted to, but she didn't, she really, really, didn't want to. Her phone buzzed in her hand - a text - but she didn't open it. She imagined it was Nathalie stating that Guillaume would be arriving soon.

Interrupting her struggle, Adrien's voice came from where Nino was previously.

"So - what're you looking at?" She raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, you've been staring outside all day, and every time we get a break from classes, you'd just come outside and stand on the sidewalk, staring. We all assumed you were looking at something, but since you kept moving, we couldn't figure it out."  
"Oh." It was a little peculiar, yeah. She had spent her whole day doing nothing but that; she tuned in however briefly to class to answer questions, but otherwise, she was focused on the world outside the school walls and the person she expected to be on the move all day, regardless of the hour. "You noticed that?"  
"Well- no, not me, I was..." When he trailed off, he quickly went through his bag, and his voice sounded almost a little pained when he turned up empty-handed. "Anyway, we all thought it looked like you were distracted by something."  
"For, and who," she answered. She wasn't looking _at_ much at all, really. The world was negative space and the only positive space she could seek in it was nowhere in sight. "It's not what I'm looking at, it's who I'm looking for."  
The sigh she was holding back earlier began to creep up again. To keep it down while she knew Adrien stood next to her, she regarded her phone again. It forced its way out when she saw that all of her time was spent. Guillaume would be pulling up any minute now.  
"Ladybug? Chat Noir?" he asked.  
"Yes," she answered, defeatedly.  
"You're a fan of heroes, too." It sounded like he was saying it more for someone else. Likely, Alya. The known Ladybug enthusiast. Marinette was well aware, and acknowledged that as a frontier she could use to communicate with Alya in her civilian form, but wasn't about to use it; it felt kind of gross to bond over her alter-ego, especially when her _own_ feelings on the matter were nothing short of tepid.  
"Sort of, but that's not why I was looking for him." She could feel his curiosity and the questions, and she didn't really want to wait for each individual one. "For Chat Noir," she clarified, to keep him from asking. She moved her eyes towards him, considered laying it all out - her entire plan, her thoughts, her feelings, just so she could put it somewhere and try to justify how discouraged she felt.  
Adrien's eyes readily met with hers, trained and focused, seeking more answers. "Are you... friends with him?"  
"... I couldn't say." She hadn't ever really looked at his eyes closely enough to pay their color any mind, but she realized in that moment they weren't blue or hazel, but green. While his eyes lingered and he didn't speak a word, Marinette's drifted all too easily toward the black figure shifting in the sky behind him.

Hope made her think it was Chat, made her disregard the enormous wingspan for a few seconds.  
Hope had her turned around faster than the others could process.

There was a dark, humanoid entity in the sky, slinging arrows left and right; he crossed the span of streets in only seconds, and while she couldn't see the effects his arrows had from where she was, she had to assume it was no good and that his accuracy wasn't anything to scoff at.  
She slipped into the obligation of Ladybug quickly; when the archer turned their attention towards the school and pulled an arrow from their quiver, Marinette moved with all the agility she could manage without Tikki's help.

"Get down!"

Her hands and arms were scuffed in the process, and she didn't like the idea of scrapes discoloring the pink of her pants with red, or the idea of fabric tearing, but those were much lower on the list of what was important to her than the civilians at the end of the villain's crosshairs.  
Adrien looked anything but comfortable when she first tackled him to the ground, and their rolling did nothing for that. When he amounted on top, all he could provide was a sheepish grin that Marinette didn't have time for. "Off, Swiss," she directed, and her hand pushed him from her, only to fasten around his shirt and pull him into another roll when she realized they were still the villain's target.  
This time, with her on top, they separated quickly, and she pulled him to his feet in the same movement.  
Fortune favored her today, she told herself, and she did not twist her ankle when she shoved him and shouted to run, just like how she did not feel shots of pain striking up her leg as she sprinted in the direction opposite.  
She hoped the other two had escaped unscathed and that the villain following behind them wasn't after Adrien.  
And that it wasn't after her, or she might have an issue finding some place to transform.

"Marinette!"  
The voice was familiar, but high enough in the air that she knew better than to turn around and simply answer. The voice definitely came from the akuma's victim, but who was it? She knew them, they knew her, but who?  
The thoughts weren't leading her anywhere but the conclusion that she was being pursued, and transforming wasn't viable while she was still fleeing. She'd need to somehow run, ignore the slight pain eating at her ankle, until Chat showed up.  
That thought came to a screeching halt when the winged archer dove ahead of her, spun around, and barred passage with his vast wingspan.  
Stopping wasn't particularly effective, but she successfully didn't slam directly into him and his nocked arrow by tripping over her own twisted ankle and slamming into the sidewalk instead.

"You made me look like an idiot," the archer accused, a critical eye on her.  
He gave her the time to gather herself from the ground instead of shooting her in the back while she was sprawled, touching his feet down to the ground before he moved forward.  
Marinette was in the middle of moving back to her feet when she noticed the arrowhead pointing right to her heart.  
It was rose-shaped, which made her suspect this was Valentine's Day themed; someone had been rejected. But did she make anyone look like an idiot? She didn't recall directly rejecting anyone at any point in her life, much less today, and if she did, she hoped she wouldn't make it humiliating.  
"She didn't think twice, Marinette."

She looked for identifying markers on the victim's body, something that would state exactly who it was. The weird point of their head threw her, certainly, and it was always harder to tell the shape of someone's eyes or their eyebrows when they had a mask. In the end, it was a familiar-looking but discolored brooch on the strap to his quiver that gave him away.  
"... Kim?"  
"Le Dislocoeur. And just like your friend broke my heart, you're going to break everyone else's."  
He drew his arrow far back, clearly intending for it to hurt.  
And no matter how quickly Marinette's thoughts usually raced, when she wasn't even quite to her feet, just in front of le Dislocoeur point-blank, she didn't have the time or the means to find an escape.

And just as Kim - no, not Kim, this wasn't Kim, this was the akuma, le Dislocoeur - had hoped, she felt pain.  
It didn't come to her as she thought it would, as a sharp strike to the heart, but in something that felt more constricting.  
But she also hadn't anticipated that Chat Noir would snatch her up from in front of the arrow in time for either of them to escape unscathed, much less both.  
"Chat-" She wanted to speak, to tell him what she knew so he could be a little more effective in the battle, but words didn't come easily in his grip. His far too tight grip. What was wrong?  
"Chat," she forced, and attempted to get her hands somewhere she could leverage herself away from him. "Chat, you're- it hurts."  
He was crushing her, and with her arms locked at her sides, all she could do to try and oppose that constriction was push with her legs and hope he didn't accidentally drop her in the process.  
"Shut up."  
His voice was unexpectedly harsh. He sounded pissed.  
Why was he mad? Was he disappointed? Did she do something?  
She tried to think objectively, and decided he just wanted to be stealthy and her speaking wasn't helping. That didn't matter quite so much when a glance around and the sight of le Dislocoeur following easily meant they weren't just going to escape.  
"Listen," she urged, "I know where-"  
His grip tightened, and she could only exhale a pained noise.  
"I said shut up."  
It was hard enough to breathe, much less speak, and processing the world became harder when Chat picked up the pace and ended up clutching her with only one arm as he swung himself across Paris.

When they finally stopped, she focused on catching her breath and focusing again on the world around her. If her sight hadn't been dark over the past few minutes, she must have had her eyes closed. It had happened in a flurry, and now she had her back to a wall with a seething cat glowering at her, a baton against her stomach.  
All the words he'd been muttering to her for the past few minutes processed a little more clearly while he seemed to punctuate them with a few more.  
"... You're rotten. You're cruel. You're everything that could possibly be wrong with a person. You couldn't even make up for it if you stayed here for the rest of your life."  
He withdrew his baton from her stomach, and she felt the mildest relief from the painful sensation while the rest of her crumbled. She didn't even know where "here" was, but he left her there while she gathered herself.

When her senses returned to her, when she managed to fight away the urge to cry when she realized she'd started, she took in her surroundings.  
It was a rooftop like any other, with a chimney protruding from it where she had previously been standing. A rooftop that was too high for a civilian to scale or descend without a long, long ladder, or the help of a superhero. Tikki flitted about freely, now knowing the coast was clear for her to reveal herself. She chittered small reassurances that didn't break through to Marinette.  
In an attempt to calm herself, she sought something to joke about.  
She had prepared herself mentally for him to refuse the date, to refuse the day, to refuse the venue. She had prepared contingencies for each and every one.  
Marinette had prepared herself for any form of rejection - any form but this one.

And she laughed, hopelessly.  
"This is just the worst," she murmured to Tikki, who carefully moved to wipe another tear threatening to come from Marinette's eyes.  
In response to the sensation, she simply closed her eyes and breathed according to Tikki's guidance.

"One... two... three... four... five... Okay, breathe out... One... two... three... four... five... Now in."  
The world stopped spinning quite so quickly after a minute, and Marinette stretched.  
"Are you feeling better?" Tikki asked, and Marinette simply offered her a smile, forced though it was.

"I'll be fine, Tikki. But I won't be able to make up for being everything that could possibly be wrong with a person if I just stay here for the rest of my life. Spots on."

* * *

The battle passed quickly.  
The pain of her ankle and the stabbing in her gut was dulled while she was transformed.  
She learned the nature of le Dislocoeur's afflicting arrows when she ran into Chat Noir again, and he had nothing but vitriol and hostility to offer her. While le Dislocoeur had recruited the afflicted Chat Noir in her absence and they worked in tandem, she handled the duo within a half hour.  
When her Lucky Charm's magic faded along with the damage the two had done, she headed home without sparing even a moment with Chat.  
The Chat who hadn't meant to tell her she was terrible, disgusting, reprehensible, incorrigible, and beyond redemption. The Chat who hadn't meant to abandon Marinette on the rooftop, presumably until someone would come to her rescue or something tragic befell her. The Chat who hadn't meant to insult Ladybug throughout the battle or try to test his Cataclysm on her face.

It had been a long day, and she was tired.  
Along with a picture message from Chloé - she grimaced at the picture of Kim on one knee in a puddle of water, droplets on his face, hair askew and trash around him, with the lone brooch presented in its lavish box, her entire afternoon suddenly making sense - her phone had been blown up with calls and texts regarding her whereabouts during the akuma, and obviously, none were answered.  
She had that to answer for when she approached the Agreste manor.

* * *

Rare as it was for a girl's mailbox to have many valentines, Marinette Agreste-Cheng's famous name and her work as a model brought them in by the truckload.  
According to Nathalie's murmured words, she'd emptied their mail receptacle no less than five times that day, not including the number of gifts that were too fragile to be deposited into the mail receptacle and instead had to be carried inside.

The mountain being carried to Marinette's room, the clinical way her father's assistant was organizing them, the perfect stacks of letters, flowers, food, and jewelry, amounted to one collective, unintended slap in the girl's face.

Her day had gone from bad to worse to vaguely less terrible, but still definitely beyond salvaging. It had been her first meaningful Valentine's Day, but she decided she didn't like the day anymore.  
This? All of the pink and red and white and heart-shaped boxes? It just put the icing on the Bad Day Cake.

... Speaking of cake.  
There was an inordinate amount of sweets assembled in the foyer, all displaced from the rest of the collection of gifts that were gathered at the base of the stairs.  
Chocolates dominated the stack, most in tell-tale heart-shaped containers, but there were other boxes with transparent lids that gave away the position of various tarts and cakes, and recognizable logos for local patisseries on those that she couldn't tell the contents of.  
No doubt, each of them had too much sugar to slip into Marinette's diet, even with careful scheduling.

While she eyed the piles with a mixture of curiosity and disdain - it still hurt, coming home from such an exhausting day to all of _this_ \- Nathalie had noticed her and pulled herself away from the busy-work of rearranging piles to her own, esoteric needs. When Nathalie spoke Marinette's name, the young girl found it far too easy to pry her eyes off of the candies and letters and floral arrangements flooding the front hall of her home.

And like Nathalie always did when she was transparently distressed, she came sprinting over, hands ready to grab Marinette up, eyes scouring for injuries - critically noticing every last one - and her voice was sharp, angry, but as quiet as a yell could be when she demanded, "Where have you been!"  
Like usual, she managed to barely keep herself from grabbing Marinette and holding her or shaking her while she shouted various questions concerning Marinette's safety and well-being.  
Marinette took them in stride and finally, while Nathalie had to heave a breath in between her panicked questions, answered, "There was a store near the school that was ushering people in to keep them out of the way of the akuma, and I hid there. I left my phone in my locker at school on accident. Sorry, Nathalie. I'll be more careful, I promise."  
An impossible to read glimmer stayed in Nathalie's eyes, the one that lingered while she processed everything, while she focused on every little detail, every time something happened with Marinette. Over time, Marinette had decided this was the throbber demonstrating how long it took for Nathalie's mind to buffer under perilous demands. Alternatively, it was a bit of compassion that Nathalie wasn't allowed to exhibit.

"So, I noticed you were organizing all of that?"  
When Nathalie began breathing again, Marinette's humbled smile to assure her grew just a little.  
Rather than lingering on the gifts beyond Nathalie or that familiar glint in her father's assistant's eyes, Marinette was far more invested in the fact Nathalie seemed to summon a clipboard out of nowhere as she returned to business - Marinette mused idly to herself on the possibility of Nathalie's devotion to her work bringing her towards the world of cybernetic modification so she could simply push the clipboard into a permanent fixture in her arm. It fit the job.

"As you know, most of the food that accompanied your gifts this year are forbidden by your diet. Those that aren't exceedingly unhealthy have already been moved to the kitchen, but you're only allowed one at a time. However, given that the rest were still gifts to you," she almost paused long enough to make Marinette think that was open-ended. Before her body could catch up with her mind and her eyes could widen from the sudden shock of Nathalie's unprecedented power and _generosity_ with that power, Nathalie continued, "I've gotten your father's approval for you to decide what will be done with them."

Well...  
Disappointment made itself known on Marinette's face again. Not quite the disappointment as when she trudged up the stairs to walk through the front door, at least.  
"Oh. Thank you?"  
Maybe the question was a little strained. While Marinette certainly didn't want the food thrown out, she wasn't sure she actually cared in the slightest where it all went, if it didn't involve her or the similarly disappointed kwami in her purse eating it.  
She reminded herself to think only of those treats with the delectability of anything that was taboo: she probably only wanted it because she couldn't have it and knew that some people loved them. Once she had it, though, it would be as underwhelming as everything else she had received in recent enough history that she could remember.  
... With the exception of two things - her Miraculous and the gift of regularly leaving her house for school. Three, if the earrings she wore 'technically' counted as two instead of one.  
Perhaps the first bite would be thrilling enough she could ignore the unimpressive flavor.  
But by the fourth, she would tire of it all.  
Maybe if they let her have them and realize this in practice, she wouldn't be tempted each time one of these occasions came up. Maybe remembering her enthusiasm would overwrite that lesson, though.

Nathalie produced a brief smile before she returned to her list, cleared her throat, and began reading out her options.  
"First, we could simply dispose of them."  
"That's a no," Marinette answered immediately.  
Having anticipated it, Nathalie continued without another breath on the next item: "You can bring them with you to school to distribute among the faculty and students."

That was an idea, foreign and compelling.  
She could distribute them, and maybe it would bring joy to a number of students, and everyone would relish in the treats. Treats she couldn't have. Treats she would try not to feel envious over not being able to eat.  
Her thoughts briefly dropped to even the classmates that didn't already take well to her: Nino, Adrien, and Alya.  
The first two were on tentative footing with her, seeming to force themselves now and again to try and get along with her in spite of Chloé, and occasionally finding comfortable conversations.  
The last, though, held her to the same doubt as she treated the mayor's daughter. The same disdain. The only time she was free from that critical opinion was when she was overly glorified in a red suit with black polka dots. Not without reason; Chloé was by no means an angel, and no matter how often Marinette would reel her in, it took minutes for the spool to unravel, for Chloé to cause another problem with another person, her only immunity from repercussion being the Bourgeois name. What would Alya make of the gesture? Would she feel pleased that Marinette didn't let the food go to waste, or would she feel annoyed and imagine this was a grand demonstration meant for only flaunting and accruing social authority? Maybe she shouldn't hinge this decision entirely on the want of one girl's friendship.

She could see the good in bringing the food to the school, but what was the bad?

She wasn't blind; she was received otherwise unanimously with awe the second she walked into the school, people immediately asking for autographs and vying for her attention and a weighted friendship covered with strings - she was new, famous, and didn't already have Chloé's track record. People usually wanted things of her, whether or not they would admit it.  
She couldn't know for sure how many of these were from students at the school, and no matter how little she knew them, she wasn't about to court danger or new akumas by passing out what she had been given as a gift, most likely with a special message regarding someone's feelings.  
Or as a grandiose gesture demonstrating how little a mere box of chocolates might be.  
She liked the concept of redistributing the food, but her responsibility as Ladybug won out. A broken-hearted student seeing their gift being shared by their classmates or seeing their crush spread out so many things simply because said crush couldn't possibly eat all of the cakes they received on Valentine's Day would make their affection a drop in the bucket, an akuma on the loose.

She sighed, bringing one hand up to her forehead to rub her eyes instead of allowing her brow to furrow.  
"Let's... Call that one a maybe. But not a very likely one." She preferred it to throwing it all away - hurt feelings were superior to throwing out perfectly good food, she thought - but she wasn't eager.

Nathalie seemed momentarily surprised, then scoured the list with a sort of urgency that Marinette hadn't expected.  
She realized that Nathalie's first option was the one Marinette would definitely refuse, and that the second one was meant to knock the rest of the options out of the park, making this quick and easy.  
Being Ladybug was going to make Nathalie's job hard. It was too bad she couldn't just say she would offer them all up to her kwami, who loved sweets, and kept Ladybug up and running.

"We could... Take them all and return them to their senders," Nathalie answered with audible distress.  
That could work, but it might require apology letters describing Marinette's dietary restrictions as the reason for its return. Then again, it looked like most of these boxes no longer had indications of where they came from. That could be difficult.  
Even harder if someone dropped them off in person without a return address.

"... I'm not going to ask you to do that," Marinette disclaimed, hands going to the clipboard to drag it away from Nathalie, and not only could she _see_ Nathalie's relief, she could feel the sigh move the air before her. She snickered, withdrawing her hand immediately to cover her mouth and turned instead to gather up some of the letters from the bottom of the stairs to carry them up. While Guillaume took a good supply up at a time, a few letters had flitted back down the stairs, taken away by the air conditioning. "I'll try and think of something else, okay?"  
As if she'd almost forgotten, Gabriel's assistant almost gasped before answering, "Your father would like this matter handled quickly."  
"I know. I'll figure it out in a few minutes, promise."

* * *

Promise broken. Sorry, Nathalie.  
A half hour had come and gone, and all Marinette had been able to think of from the second she set down the envelopes atop the collection of boxes carrying letters and presents and flowers, already teeming with V-Day joy, was the catastrophe her day had been, and how pathetic she was being for still brooding over it.  
Before returning to thinking about how terrible everything was.  
And once more chastising herself internally.  
And then brooding more.

It had become obvious that Chat had taken an arrow for her, because nothing but malice came from his mouth, not even puns. This didn't change when she became Ladybug.  
She knew he didn't mean a word of it. The product of each arrow seemed to disrupt any relationship with any semblance of friendliness, or even first exchanges with good prospects, which would have been cured immediately after she broke the akuma's vessel.  
She knew he didn't mean any of it.  
But every syllable, especially the ones she didn't hear while she was struggling to breathe, cut deep.

Which left her as a mess on her bed, hair freed of its tie, shoes simply kicked off onto the floor, only lifting her head for air when a familiar ringtone played.  
It was a looping segment of a song she wasn't personally fond of, but Chloé insisted she had to accept out of virtue of repeatedly mentioning _pink_ which the mayor's daughter pointed out was the model's _favorite_ color, as if Marinette wouldn't remember that unreminded, so why didn't she like it?

_... Pink champagne in the purple rain, we're gonna paint, paint, paint the city, we're gonna show off all our pretty, pretty..._  
_... Pink champagne in the purple rain, we're gonna paint, paint, paint the city-_

Now that it was playing, Marinette needed to find a new ringtone for Chloé - something she'd told herself a number of times but always managed to forget.  
If only to turn it off, she reached for the phone and answered.

"Yes, Chloé?" She was tired. She was so tired she didn't have the energy to try not to let the exhaustion hit her voice, especially because her entire evening had gone to hell over Chloé being... How she was.  
"So, I never got a cancellation notice, where are you?"  
"Um-" And somehow, she managed to forget in a second over the vague-feeling question.  
"Are you going to tell me who you were waiting on earlier?"  
"Earlier..." Marinette pulled herself from her mound of self-pity and fluffed her free hair around, dragging her nails gently across her scalp in the process.  
"The person you were waiting for after school, who you completely blew me off for?"  
"A...ah." Had she thoughtlessly agreed to telling her about it? She hardly remembered their conversation this afternoon, and it had only been a little over an hour.  
The girl's voice transitioned from the verbal equivalent to nonstop eyerolling to a quieted enthusiasm and envy. "... Are you on a date right now, Marinette?"  
"No! I-" Her voice cracked in her throat and she forced herself not to sound embarrassed through the rest of the sentence. "I'm not. I... Didn't get to talk to him today."

A moment too long of silence was followed by the blonde's incredulous tongue-clicking. "Marikins," and her voice sounded too condescending, too sharp, she could see right through it, "You're popular, you're attractive, you're wealthy, _and_ ma meilleure amie. One, don't think for a second that you can lie to me like you can with your dad. And, two, I know anyone you took an interest in would be coming to you before you went to them. So what actually happened?"

It wasn't like Chloé was entirely wrong - just about the part that mattered.  
"You're right," she started, eliciting a smug noise from the other end of the phone, "Mostly, anyway. Occasionally, you overestimate just how much people like us."  
Marinette rolled over on her bed, lay out, and stared toward the ceiling, obstructed only by the canopy of her bed. It was unnecessary and grand, but once upon a time, she thought it would bring her joy. For the week after, like most larger gifts, she was right. Now, it was embarrassing and kind of an eyesore. "I did see him, and we talked a little. It didn't go well."

This, Chloé accepted, and was mid-gasp and announcement that she would be speaking to her father about this, that she would have whomever it was _run out of town_ , when Marinette cut in again.

"It'll be fine, but do you have any ideas to make today... Less terrible?" It would bring Chloé away from the rant that was meant to be but was far from comforting, and back to attention.  
With a new cocky energy about her, Chloé seemed to almost purr into the phone. "Well- again, knowing that you're as popular and gorgeous as you are, and as popular and gorgeous as I am, I think we both have some cards to burn through, as a little pick-me-up."

Marinette usually didn't regard the Valentine's Day cards. Superficial commentary, usually, regarding her beauty, her skill, her father. Few and far between would be a message or gift from someone she actually knew on a personal basis, and fewer and further between would be any that she couldn't take with a cup full of salt.  
But she could use something, even platitudes or empty, repetitive words, to take her mind off of Chat Noir spitting out the words that he hated her, that she was rotten, that she should surrender her Miraculous because she was more a liability than a hero.  
... She was going to push that thought to the back of her mind again, where it belonged. She didn't linger on it earlier, she wasn't going to now.

"I suppose... Oh! Chloé, I almost forgot! Two things first."

* * *

"Oh my god, Marinette," Chloé guffawed, showing a rare, intimate detail of herself in the safe confines of her friend's bedroom - specifically, that she wouldn't hesitate to talk with her mouth full of chocolates, even if it meant losing some of the chocolate in the process and almost choking on it when she sputtered out periodic laughs.

Chloé had already gone through many of her own Valentines, grown bored, and moved on to some of Marinette's, some read, some still untouched by their proper recipient. She was also receiving about 90% of the sweets that would otherwise end up in the trash while Marinette smuggled the other 10% into small hiding spaces around her room for Tikki.

"This one," she chuckled and tacked on some commentary on the way the paper had been crushed, like it was fished from the trash before it was delivered. Marinette tried to tune the commentary out while she hid chocolates and cookies in the back of her closet.

The activity had taken her mind off of Chat Noir, sure, but she felt embarrassed and a little lonely by the repeated romantic clichés that many of the letters she'd received parroted, the number of names she couldn't even recognize, the number that mentioned her father in the same line that they tried to garner her attraction, as if thinking about Gabriel somehow secured their attempt.  
The one Chloé was reading from would probably be no better, especially by the sound of the blond girl's cackles and snorts.  
Cackles and snorts that brought a smile to Marinette's face, at least. She allowed herself to tune in while Chloé read it aloud.

"Your hair is dark as night,  
"Your pretty bluebell eyes,  
"I wonder who you are beneath that strong disguise."  
Clearly, she thought, a reference to her mask when she was Ladybug; the only disguise she allowed anyone to actually realize was a disguise, by virtue of having a mask.  
... But this wasn't Ladybug's house. It was Marinette's. She turned around from her closet towards Chloé, who pushed on as if there was nothing amiss. Marinette, however, was crumbling out of fear that she'd been discovered.  
So soon, no less.  
It had only been a couple of months!

"Do you spend your days aloft,  
"As if walking on air?  
"I dream of spending days with you,  
"Away from the fanfare." She snorted, scoured the page a little more, and pressed on.  
"I wonder what you saw that day,  
"If you could see past all my flaws,  
"I wonder if my words reach you,  
"If I could give you... pause." Chloé needed a full moment to form the word, shaking her head at the paper as her body was shaken once again with laughter. "Pause. Pause," she muttered to herself.

"Every day, we see each other," Every day? They see each other? Mutually? Who was it that had already unraveled her biggest secret, that she had made sure even Chloé couldn't almost figure out, only to make a critical error that sent her on the wrong path?  
"I hope you'll give me a sign.  
"I'll love you to the end of my days,  
"Would you be my V- hahaha, 'be my Valentine!'"

She swallowed her anxiety and attempted at vague commentary, fighting her usual masks. No robotic voice, no stammering, just force a calm, amused tone...  
"What do they mean, 'strong disguise'?" And, as she thought, her voice sounded a little unnatural - something Chloé sure didn't miss.  
"Oh come on, Marinette, don't tell me you just ate all that up? It's _so_ cheesy. Actually, it even kind of smells like cheese."  
She swiveled back around to face Chloé, who was holding the crumpled paper as far from herself as she could without putting it down. She looked like she was attempting not to barf where she sat.  
"I didn't say I was interested! That's just such a strange phrase!"  
"Please, Marinette, I heard your tone." The crumpled paper was given a little more thought and the hand that held it no longer dangled it like it were saturated in some unidentified, potentially hazardous substance, and she gave up the feigned disgust in favor of exasperation. She sighed. "If I had to say it meant anything, it's proooobably the fact you put up so many fronts, so they're wondering what you're really like."  
Her icy cold eyes flicked up to Marinette's face, a smug look poised to make a jab. Marinette sat there, still frazzled, still concerned, and didn't realize the feeling wore through to her expression - something that Chloé dropped her jaw at.  
"Are you for real? How are you so flustered over something so corny? This poem isn't anything special."

At the present moment, however, Marinette was far from convinced, and not about to ponder or argue over a lack of crush or not. Instead, she hurried to her feet to cross the room. Chloé, defensively, pulled the paper closer to herself.  
"I'm not letting you fall for some shmuck with a pocket book of flower names, Marinette! As your best friend, I expressly forbid you from getting hot under the collar over a stupid rhyme a kid could have written!"  
"Chloé, just give me the paper."  
"What part of 'no' didn't come out clearly? 'Caaaause, uhhhmmmmm, nooooo?"

A few slips, trips, and falls later, two jumps meant to tackle, one bumped head, one profuse apology, one sneaky snatch later, and Marinette was pouring over the poem herself while Chloé warned Marinette that her imminent descent to the likes of the common folk was not to be blamed on her.  
"And I didn't want to say it this way, Marinette, but."  
Her joking tone that had somehow stayed intact through the whole night, gave way to a slightly more somber one. One full of concern for a childhood friend that looked like she was getting in too deep over a poem that had, fortunately, arrived unsigned by its author.  
"Girls of our prestige can't just trust cute words like those. Like I said. You're popular, you're a model, you're wealthy. It's hard to tell if someone even cares about you unless they have nothing to gain."

The words spoke volumes.  
It was something Chloé, Nathalie, and even Gabriel had all warned Marinette about while she grew up.  
It was something Marinette knew to be one of Chloé's deepest set insecurities and the justification she used for how terrible she let herself be. A reason Marinette never accepted, but Chloé never relented about.

But in the moment, it meant more than Marinette's possible need for love and acceptance that a letter might emptily promise.  
In the moment, this little cleverly crafted message wasn't a letter of confession.  
It was a warning. It wasn't a confession and a nod to knowing who she was, it wasn't a request that she consider them so they could share their love of her and what she did, it was holding her secret identity as ransom for whatever it was worth.

Until Marinette's eyes fell on the reason for Chloé's stammer mid-poem earlier. The word 'pause' had originally been written 'paws,' only to be crossed out, however still possible to read.  
Suddenly, the page felt far less threatening, and Marinette's mind wandered right back to Chat Noir. Not to the Chat Noir of this evening, but the Chat Noir of every day before that.  
He wondered if he might give her... paws.

Embarrassed and finally actually flustered, Marinette could only communicate in giggles while she held the poem close.  
It could be a fluke, it could be someone else who simply liked cat puns, even if they only had the chance for one. She hoped it wasn't.  
And Chloé, however serious she had been for a few moments, let it melt off of her shoulders at the sound of Marinette's laughter.

"Your secret admirer wants to know so badly what you're like in secret, but I could just record this and send it to everyone at school. It'd reach them eventually."  
Marinette was still smiling when she turned her eyes over her shoulder. "You're the worst. And if you _ever_ do what you did to Kim today again, we're not friends anymore."  
"What?! I told him I was _sorry_!"  
"Was that because you were actually sorry, or because I told you you couldn't come in if you didn't?"  
"Ughhh," Chloé let herself lay across Marinette's bed dramatically, lips pursed in a pout, brows furrowed. She practically mumbled, "Maybe both?"

* * *

When night fell, Chloé inevitably had to go home - sleepovers were never something Marinette was allowed, after all.  
With her went most of the sweets, which Chloé assured her would stay in plentiful supply at La Grand Paris if Marinette came by some day soon and felt like having a few in secret. In spite of that promise, she still left behind more than Marinette had intended to keep. With the mayor's daughter giving Nathalie a handful, the extra tarts and cakes left behind in Marinette's room were forgotten - a simple text before Chloé departed proper told her to hide them before she got in trouble for having too much sugar around.  
Before Nathalie retired for the day, she took the valentines Marinette had no intention of keeping for disposal in the morning - all but one, which she left on her desk and read over a couple more times.

Her reverie and slow descent into her exhaustion was interrupted by a faint noise. Not on her door, she noted; it sounded like a thick piece of glass had fallen and fortunately failed to break upon contact with the floor. Like it bounced. Like it was in another room. But it was loud enough it had to be in her own room. A glance around and additional knocking led her eyes to the side of her room that was completely comprised of windows; perched on the angle of one was Chat Noir, hand poised like the... Maneki-neko? Oh, no, he had just been knocking with that hand.

There he sat, and she watched him curiously. He uncurled his fingers and offered a small wave. She watched. He stopped waving. She raised one hand to wiggle her fingers at him. He continued waving again.  
After a moment, Marinette darted across the room to open the window for him. Immediately, his feet came through the window, but instead of entering her room entirely, he merely sat there.

"Chat Noir," she started, and words became stuck in her throat. He looked different, he looked friendly, and the reality of her afternoon came back to her again.  
"Princess," he greeted - the nickname he'd used when she first participated with the Artist, when she formed the pretense of merely fangirling at his presence when he recruited her - the nickname that made her suddenly conscientious of the things in her room like her extravagant canopy bed again.  
She decided not to dwell on that, and he decided to press the conversation further without her.

"I'm glad you got down from the tower without your knight. Was it Ladybug?"  
The memory crept back quickly. "Yes. She... mentioned that she had seen you heading that way with me and leaving empty-handed, but didn't have time to gather me until after everything had been handled," she responded, hands finding themselves over her stomach and knotting her fingers together.

His expression became more and more obviously forced as she answered, until his smile gave way entirely to a frown.  
"I'm sorry that happened, Princess."  
Nervously and quickly, she countered, "It's fine. I know, that wasn't you. When you picked me up, you must have blocked me from the arrow. Kim - le Dislocoeur had said I would break people's hearts. I'm sorry I was there, and you ended up stuck like that in my stead."

He opened his mouth to answer, but Marinette was far from finished. This was her opportunity. They were talking. It wasn't midnight yet. And she was going to ride the wave of reassurance from her own confession that he had _saved_ her today for as far as it would take her, even if it only lasted a few moments before she remembered her feeling of fear.

"Moreover, more than saying sorry, I want to also... Say thank you."  
And Chat's mouth stayed open, wordlessly.  
"Not just for taking the arrow for me today. For saving Paris so many times."  
"I didn't do much saving today, and taking that arrow put you through a lot," he admitted, quietly, one hand going to the back of his neck to rub nervously.  
"You saved me by taking that arrow. I don't know who I would have hurt if I was the one who took it, and I don't know what my life would look like right now. You took that grief off of me, and... I know," she paused, trying to reaffirm the reassurance, "I know you didn't want to say it. I won't question if there's any truth behind any of it because I trust you and I forgive you. For everything."

He continued looking at her, still looking a little hesitant, but smiling a little more.  
"You saved my friends at school every day before now. So, thank you. For everything that you do. I appreciate it, and I admire you."

"You admire me, huh?" That smile burst into something more of a grin. "Is that why you're such a hero all the time, Princess?"

She began to speak, paused, and her mind rushed right back to the poem. Still on her desk. In the open.  
The cat pun.  
The disguise.  
The fact that, if Chat had sent the poem, he could know very well who Ladybug truly was.  
She almost choked on her prior words before speaking again, eyes quickly downcast and to the side while she struggled to find her voice and the proper tone to take with this topic. "Since when have I been a hero?"

His grin vanished, concern plastered all over his face once again. He left her window and dropped completely noiselessly to the floor in front of her, carefully bringing his hands up to her shoulders. "Hey - don't, don't, please."  
If she didn't know any better, she might've thought he sounded like he expected her to cry.  
She didn't know whether or not she would be at that point if she hadn't already worn herself out of that particular activity while recuperating on the rooftops of Paris.  
... Not that she was going to hold it against him.  
But maybe she would have cried, out of fear of everything coming exposed. Even to Chat.  
"You saved one of your classmates earlier," he answered, after a second, rubbing her shoulders. "... I... saw you pushing him, pulling him around, and shouting at him. That was... You were trying to keep him safe, weren't you?"

Marinette could hardly remember any of that. She remembered Kim, the arrows, the brooch, Chat Noir, the rooftop, Tikki... Who was he talking about? She didn't answer, and to her luck, he explained further.

"I talked to him afterward. When I couldn't find you, and I thought I'd check the school again, he was still around. Adrien Dupain? He said he thought you saved him, too. And that, that's what you've been like ever since he met you, Princess. You're someone's hero."  
There was an emphasis and an urgency to Chat's tone that Marinette couldn't quite decipher, but she could vaguely remember that now - he had been talking to her when she first spotted le Dislocoeur. She pulled him out of the way of a number of arrows. She had shouted at him and hoped he would make it to safety. She wondered if he did make it. If he escaped. If he ended up in Chat's predicament the second her back was turned. Those actions, though, she couldn't explain over her being Ladybug.  
And it sounded like if Chat _didn't_ know, he was giving her an out.

"... I suppose that might be why I did that... It was fairly dangerous for someone who wasn't a superhero, now that I'm thinking about it."  
The reason why she was still Ladybug, after all, was because of Chat Noir. The words that made her fall for him. While she was Ladybug. How would she explain that? She couldn't search for encouragement over every time he spoke to Marinette - the encounters all bled together, if she wasn't especially conscious of them being different.  
She decided to stop thinking when his hands moved from her shoulders to give her a careful hug.

He answered her murmured words with a smile. "Well, I admire you. You did it without a mask or superpowers."

It sounded like he didn't realize. It sounded so sincere, he couldn't have known or suspected. But that quickly disappeared in the back of her mind.  
Her face was definitely on fire at this point, she knew that much. She could hear Chat's voice over her thudding heart, but just being aware of her heartbeat inexplicably made it seem _louder_. Marinette had no idea what to say, and stayed quiet while she processed the same things over and over.  
In his arms.  
While he commended her.  
And admired her.

When she didn't speak, he cleared his throat and continued, withdrawing his arms from around her.  
"Oh, so, speaking of that guy," he paused, swallowed, smiled, "Adrien. Dupain. The guy in your class."  
She looked up to him, still speechless, still thinking the same things over and over.  
"He said you might just know him as Swiss?" The smile on his face became more apprehensive and nervous.  
"No, I know the name Adrien," she answered.  
His grin grew once again, eager to press on. "He mentioned you were looking for me earlier?"

"... Oh. Right. Yes, I was," and now she had used up most of her conversation fodder, and he was already here, talking to her, moving to square one, so she had very few conversation chips left to offer as valid material. Damn it, Adrien Dupain was a variable she didn't include in her plan.  
"Anything I can do for mew, Princess?" He found her hand, brought it up to his lips, and easily kept eye contact while he pressed a lingering kiss to her knuckles.  
"... Well. At the time, I... Was hoping just to be able to speak with you. I heard that Valentine's Day was a good day to..." And she trailed off, searching for her excuses, to no avail. The expression just over her hand turned from flirty and pseudo-devoted into embarrassment and anticipation.  
Possibly attempting to encourage her, he offered a mere, "Cat got your tongue?"

And she decided she couldn't do it.

She swallowed, hard, feeling the feverish heat swarm her throat and cheeks, and decided to chalk it all up to social ineptitude: "I, I had heard today was a good day for... Expressing appreciation... And establishing friendships... Which a friend of mine later told me was only something that happened around first grade."  
The expectant expression on Chat Noir's face drifted until he began laughing. "Princess, you really have lived in a tower your whole life," he chuckled, and Marinette pushed her hands against his mouth to quiet him, eyes darting to the door.  
"Yes, I've lived in a tower this whole time, and there are dragons here, so please don't wake them up. I've never had a friend over this late to begin with, much less..." She trailed off and tried to wordlessly convey her desperation for his compliance. He held her hands in place over his mouth in response, nodding a bit.  
When his hands released hers, she let her hands down, and sighed. It was late, and this was an emotional roller coaster.  
And for the life of her, she couldn't tell him it was probably time to go, even when he began dragging his eyes over her room in the comfortable silence that followed; she simply let herself follow suit, looking around as well, in part to make sure nothing potentially humiliating was on display - she usually kept her place tidy, but if any of her underwear was out in the open, she may as well die.

It occurred to her that the opportunity was still there to give him his gift.  
Not that it had to be a Valentine's Day gift, or something with her baring her heart to someone whose real name she wasn't allowed to know and asking that they take it regardless.  
"One second," she said, and quickly crossed the room to head for her hiding place for his present. It was small, and wrapped in pink.  
She cursed her favorite color for its incriminating nature. It was Valentine's Day, and this sure looked like a Valentine's Day gift.  
She lingered, thinking for a minute about how she might de-romance this gift. Sure, there was plenty of pink elsewhere in the room, and if he asked, she could excuse it, but what if he didn't ask? What if he assumed correctly? Underwear out or not, she still could just die.

"Hey Princess?" he prompted, interrupting her thoughts. His voice came from across the room.  
"Hmm?" She turned his way with the little box in-hand, and when she found him, he was just barely peeking out from the thin veil of a pink canopy. The humiliatingly extravagant canopy that she hadn't dreamed, in a million years, that he would ever see, much less hide behind while he kneaded his fingers against her blankets.  
"I like your bed."

She threw the box at him.


End file.
